


The Night Before A Turtley Christmas

by Mysteryred



Category: Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles (2014), Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles - All Media Types
Genre: Bedtime Stories, Christmas, Christmas Fluff, Family, Young Turtles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-08
Updated: 2015-12-08
Packaged: 2018-05-05 14:54:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,613
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5379260
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mysteryred/pseuds/Mysteryred
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Splinter's Christmas gift to the turtles, a bedtime story tailored just for them. One-shot. Turtle tots. 2014 verse. I do not own TMNT, or The Night Before Christmas.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Night Before A Turtley Christmas

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Ravenshell](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ravenshell/gifts).



Michelangelo strained to peek between his brothers’ arms, then their heads, struggling to see the fluffy white powder slowly piling up before the drainage grate.  Raph palmed his little brother’s face, pushing him back.  

The soles of Mikey’s boots were worn and he slid on the greasy concrete.  He tripped over his own feet and flailed for something to grab onto, found a strong hand gripping his arm.  His gaze drifted to peer into the liquid brown eyes of the one who steadied him.  

“Come, my sons, we have time for a story before bed,” Master Splinter smiled at Michelangelo, releasing him then beckoning Leo, Raph, and Donnie away from the grate.

“Oh!  I want to choose!” Donatello turned so fast his shell bumped into Leo, knocking him into Raph.

“Get off me!”  Raph protested.

“It was an accident,” Leo retorted.

“Can I pick the story, Sensei?” Mikey begged, with pleading blue eyes fixed on Splinter.  

“I’m fairly certain it’s my turn,” Donatello protested.

Splinter blinked.  Would nothing every go smoothly?  “My sons, please…”

“No fair, you’ll pick something boring!” Mikey whined.

“I will not, it will be educational.  And _you_ could certainly stand to learn something!” Donatello shoved his glasses further up on his face, his amber eyes narrowing.

Raph elbowed Michelangelo.  “Quit cryin’ all the time.  Besides it’s my turn.”

Michelangelo frowned, rubbing his arm.  “Ow, that hurt, Raph.”

“Quit pushing him, Raph,” Leo said stepping in front of his youngest brother.

Raph snorted.  “What are you gonna do about it, Leo?”  Raph squared his shoulders, stepping into Leo’s face even though his older brother was taller than him.  “And why you always tryin’ to boss me around, huh?”

“That is enough!”  Splinter’s tail cracked the air like a whip.  As his sons heads all snapped in his direction, Splinter closed his eyes and took a cleansing breath.  “My sons, I have a very special story for you on this night.  Please, let us return to the lair.”  

A bitter wintry blast gusted through the drainage opening, carrying a spray of snow in.  The tiny white flakes cascaded over them in little swirls.  The rat’s fur fluffed as white specks settled on the bridge of his snout.  He shivered despite his body’s natural protection, and eyed his sons, who, although they’d just been squabbling, huddled closer to him seeking warmth.  “Come, my sons, I am eager to tell you this story.”

Splinter sat in the center of the faded burgundy papasan cushion, the fabric worn thin over the faux buttons, the hem he’d mended himself.  His sons gathered close, each with their own small scrap of a blanket.  

Michelangelo carried his tattered teddy bear that, not for the first time, made Splinter wish he had access to a washing machine.  He worried the boy would fall ill for the germs the bear was bound to gather as Michelangelo dragged it around by its arm.  Now the boy pulled the button-eyed bear under one arm and plopped his thumb in his mouth.  

With the book under one arm, a slip of notebook paper sticking out just inside the cover, Splinter reached to tuck the edge of Raph’s blanket under his two-toed feet.  Raph’s green eyes darted toward him suspiciously before he turned his head toward the nearest wall, yet the boy settled in closer against Splinter’s side.  The corners of Splinter’s mouth tipped up.

A glance at Leonardo showed him the boy had layered his fraying navy beach towel beneath the hole-filled cobalt fleece blanket they’d recently acquired.  Leonardo was studiously smoothing the wrinkles and ensuring he was entirely covered.  He noticed his father watching and his three-fingered hands stilled.  He looked on his father with wide blue eyes.

“Are you ready for me to begin the story, my son?”  Splinter asked, lifting the edge of the blanket and pulling it up higher on Leonardo’s plastron.

“Yes, Father,” Leonardo replied, as he too snuggled closer to Splinter’s side.

Behind him, leaning against Splinter’s back, Donatello pouted.  “Bet it’s another picture book with the alphabet beneath it, or shapes, or first words.  It’s never anything intriguing.”  

Splinter turned his head, glanced down at his brilliant son.  “Donatello, I think you will find this story is none of those things.”

Donatello rolled to his side, craning to see the book Splinter now held in his paws.  The boy scowled.  “The Night Before Christmas.”  His eyes drifted up to meet Splinters blank face then he sank back into his spot, fixed his gaze on a hole in the cushion near his feet.  “Could be worse,” he mumbled.

“Donatello, this is not exactly The Night Before Christmas as you’ve heard it before.  I wrote this story as my Christmas gift to you, my sons.  Although, I’m afraid it does not always—rhyme.”  

Four sets of eyes looked upon their father, and all at once they pressed closer still.  Splinter’s heart filled, as he hoped his story would be enough, although his sons never complained about what little they had.  He opened the book, glanced at the paper and closed it again.  He didn’t need it.

“T’was the night before Christmas,

When all through the lair,

Not a creature was stirring,

Not even a rat;

Weapons were hung

On the wall with care,

In hopes no enemies

Would dare venture there;

The turtles were nestled

All snug in their beds,

While visions of pizza

Danced in their heads;

The boys in their masks

And sensei in his wrap,

Had just settled down

For a long winter’s nap—

When out in the city

Several sirens arose,

Our heroes sprang from their beds,

To bring down their foes.

Away to the street

They flew in a flash,

Rose up from the sewers,

Topside in a dash.

The moon on the breast

Of the new-fallen snow,

Gave a luster of peace

To the city below;

When, what to my wondering eyes

Should appear,

But a deft team of ninjas

Without any fear;

And their crafty old sensei

So lively and quick,

I knew in a moment

That this was no trick!

More rapid than eagles,

These ninjas, they came,

And their sensei, he whispered,

And shushed them by name—

“Michelangelo, Donatello, Raphael, Leonardo!

To the top of the roof,

To the top of the mall!

Stealth, stealth!  Vanish,

Vanish now, all!”

As dry leaves before

The wild hurricane fly,

When they met with an obstacle,

Mount to the sky,

So up to the rooftops

The ninjas, they flew,

With weapons of skill—

And their rat sensei too.

And then in a twinkling,

I heard on the roof,

Ninja’s footwork—

I had eyewitness proof!

As I drew in my head

And was turning around,

Raphael landed,

Quite firm, from his bound.

Masked all in red,

With his sai in his hand,

This strong turtle was ready

To face any man.

A bundle of trouble

He had cleared away;

For his brothers’ safety,

He did much more than pray.

Clever Donatello’s tongue

peeked from his cheek,

As he defused a bomb—

His fifth in a week.

Then he drew up his bo

And lifted his chin

Ready to disarm enemies

And protect his kin.

Michelangelo’s mask encircled

His head like a wreath.

But his whirling nunchaku

 Brought his foes much grief.

He had a broad face

And a slight pizza belly

That shook when he laughed

Like a bit of jelly.

He was nimble and quick—

A right spry juvenile,

And I laughed when I saw him,

Though his shape was reptile.

A wink of Mike’s eye

And a twist of his head,

Soon gave me to know

I had nothing to dread.

Blue-clad Leonardo,

Who led this brash team

Watched over them proudly

With blue eyes agleam.

Leo spoke not a word,

But went straight to his work,

Knocked out all the villains,

Then turned with a jerk,

Tightening the mask

He wore ‘round his head,

He gave a quick nod;

To the fire escape they fled.

He sprang to his feet,

To his team gave a signal,

And away they all flew

Like the shot of a pistol.

But I heard him whisper

As they flicked out of sight,

“Merry Christmas to all

And to all a Safe Night!”

Splinter placed the book on the floor, the slip of notebook paper floating free of the pages. He eyed each of his children.  Michelangelo’s mouth curved up in a smile, his stuffed bear now his pillow. Raph’s fingers had slipped onto the edges of Splinter’s robe, his cheek pressed to the tattered cloth, a soft rhythmic blend of inhales and exhales telling him the boy was asleep.  Leo’s head was tipped at an awkward angle, where he’d tried to watch his father read the story, although he was facing away from him and perched at Splinter’s feet.  Splinter repositioned the boy, so that his neck would not hurt when he woke.  

Behind him Donatello wiggled a bit.  Splinter turned to remove the boy’s glasses but found him wide awake.  Internally Splinter groaned.  His sons knew better than to be excited about Christmas; they did little more than read together and play family board games to celebrate human holidays.  So why was the boy still awake?  Would he end up reading a chapter from an encyclopedia to appease him?

“Donatello, are you alright?” he asked, feeling the bite of cold as if it radiated up from the concrete walls.  Instinctively he pulled the boy’s lavender blanket up closer around him.  

Donatello blinked, his lips curving into a small, shy smile.  His gentle eyes darted to the paper before he reached for it, handing it to Splinter.  “Will you read it again, please?”

 

**Author's Note:**

> Special thanks to Ravenshell for beta-ing this story, Be Fearless, and whatever else I throw her way. She helped work out a few rough spots on the verses here, and I just can't say enough about her impeccable grammar & writing talent. :)


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